


No such thing as impossible

by mssarahx



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-04 01:11:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10263686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssarahx/pseuds/mssarahx
Summary: When Molly won the weekend away in an old Manor house, she didn't realise it would push the boundaries of her beliefs and push her and Sherlock into an uncertain new territory.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really, just wanted to write a Sherlolly Haunted House fic.  
> Probably going to be very OOC and maybe even a little crack!fic -like , but hey it's a bit of fun.

She’d won the weekend in a raffle at Bart’s. A three night stay in a sixteenth century manor house, in Berkshire, for two, complete with serving staff and complete segregation from the rest of the world. She’d honestly just bought the tickets in order to shut up the whining HR assistant who lamented how she couldn’t get anyone to buy because ‘snobby Tanya got them all first’. Personally, Molly felt everyone up there was snobby, turning their noses up whenever she went in wearing her scrubs. It’s just a bit of blood. Or ketchup. She’d had a working lunch. 

Molly had deliberated trying to get Meena to take the weekend with her, but she had plans with Chris and apparently they were ‘Hard and fast plans’. Molly shuddered and left her to it. 

Now she had a trip for two and no number two to go. 

She was pondering her predicament whilst extracting the small intestine from poor Mrs. Trull when the swinging doors behind her flung open. In stormed a very pissed Sherlock. 

“The audacity of that man” he exclaimed, flinging his arm behind him as if to give context to his words.

John followed behind him nodded at Molly and took a seat at the work bench, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Molly sighed and took the bait, “what man and what now?” 

“Stamford. That bloody imbecile decided to stop me on my way, to important case related business might I just add, to inform me that I’m being insensitive to your relationship requirements by not accompanying you on your weekend away!” Sherlock’s arms rose and fell in a fit of impassioned ranting , whilst staring, incredulous, at Molly. 

Molly just stared at Sherlock, processing his words. “Mike?”

“Yes , Mike! How he got his degree I’ll never know!”

Molly looked over at john, hoping for some kind of translation. 

He sighed and lifted his head, the smirk more prominent on his face now. “Mike stopped to ask me about Rosie and happened to mention to Sherlock about the trip. He asked if Sherlock was excited, to which this idiot replied-,” 

“It’s not my bloody trip, why would I be excited?” the arms were up again as Sherlock interrupted. 

“Yeah, exactly that.” John pointed at the frustrated detective, the smirk a now full blown grin. “Mike then thought he should inform Sherlock about proper etiquette in this situation. An then explain that you may want this to be a romantic break.” 

“Oh. Well of course not.” Molly replied simply, taking off her gloves and stepping towards the men, Mrs. Trull forgotten for now. 

Both men’s head snapped up to look at her, John with surprise and Sherlock… something else.

“Well I know it’s not your thing, three days in solitude, you’d implode. Plus, it’s meant to be relaxing and I’m not quite sure you know how to relax Sherlock.” Molly tried to joke, but in all honesty, she would love to spend three whole days and nights locked away with Sherlock, and despite his claims of love for her, she’s not completely sure he could cope with it. An idle mind is not a phrase ever associate with Sherlock Holmes.

“You don’t want me to come?” Sherlock asked, his voice low.

“Of course I do!” She could tell this could take a while to explain and so could John apparently as he excused himself from the room to get coffee.

“Well that’s not how it sounds.” 

“Sherlock, its in the middle of the countryside, there would be no cases, no mysteries to solve. Hell, probably even no phone service. I just don’t think it’s your thing.” He stared at her a minute longer before the corners of his mouth picked up in a sly grin. 

“No but you are.”

“I’m your what?”

“You’re my thing” 

“Your thing?”

His grin drooped slightly as he realised what was meant to be a compliment sounded a bit more insulting that he anticipated. 

“I didn’t mean – I meant, damn it.” He rose and made his way over to the slab where Molly stood, standing right in front of the shorter pathologist, “Molly Hooper, if you would have me, I’d love to accompany you on your trip next weekend.” 

Molly grinned up at him, pulling herself onto her tiptoes and pecking him on the lips, “Of course I’ll have you.”

His eyebrows rose and the devilish grin returned, “oh, you will?” he kissed her, with more force now, pulling at her lab coat and steering her towards the supply room. 

Poor Mrs. Trull would have to wait a bit longer.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two.

 

They set off early the Friday morning, making their way out of the city into the picturesque countryside. Molly relished the feeling when the noise of the busy London streets silenced into nothing but the hum of the car as it barrelled down the country lanes.

They pulled up to the house around lunch time and started to pull their bags out of the trunk when a booming voice shook them both,

“Sir, Madam, Please allow me.”

Molly whirled around to see an older gentleman standing just a few feet behind her. He stood proudly with his arms clasped behind his back, highlighting the pristine suit.

“Oh, hello, you must be Collins.” Molly chirpily stated, remembering the package explained they would have a full household of staff available to them.

“Yes Ma’am. I am the head Butler of Whitshaw house. Please, allow me to collect your bags. The maids have prepared refreshments in the foyer for you and Mr. Hooper.”

Molly blushed as she realised she had booked it in her name, which of course would make them believe Sherlock was Hooper. She felt almost flattered that he would assume they were married, but shut it down as a girlish whim. She looked behind him to Sherlock, who was stood observing Collins, probably already deducing his years of service and what he had eaten for breakfast two Thursdays ago.

“Sherlock, shall we?” He tore his eyes away from Collins and moved towards Molly, grasping her hand in his. Molly was slightly taken aback by the gesture, although not at all displeased with the display of affection.

“Hooper.”

Molly looked at him quizzically, “Holmes?” she replied in jest.

He shook his head, “No, just thinking out loud. Sherlock Hooper. Not bad I suppose.”

She could not supress the grin that spread across her blushing face.

*

They spent the next few hours unpacking their belongings into the master bedroom, Molly spending too much time discreetly hiding the parcels of lace and satin she had packed as a surprise.

they toured the house with Collins, him giving them detailed history of each room. Molly zoned out through most of it, choosing to focus on the beautiful paintings that adorned each wall. Most were landscapes, but in every few rooms there would be a magnificent portrait of a formidable looking gentleman or lady, looking more majestic and regal as they moved through the house. When Molly enquired about the portrait that sat above the fire place in the drawing room Collins launched into a speech about how the great Lord. Edmund had defended his land during the civil war when the house was first built. He seemed almost wistful in his recount of the tale, but Molly again lost interest when he and Sherlock began to debate the facts of the war, history not being her favourite subject at school.

She wandered over to the bay window that overlooked the stables and gardens. Towards to back of the vegetable garden she could see a small patch of grass with what looked like small headstones littered across. Unfazed, she cast her eyes across the green landscape, when she saw a small figure move behind one of the stones.

Small and childlike, it peeped up from behind the headstone and turned its head, before running forward to duck behind another stone. It continued in this pattern until it –he, she realised – reached the edge of the vegetable patch, around fifteen feet from the window.

She waved at the small boy, but he simply stared at her, before jumping back into the small cemetery and disappearing behind the old oak.

“Who are you waving at?” Sherlock’s baritone voice made her jump slightly, as she turned to see him and Collins looking at her expectantly.

“Oh. The little boy. He was playing in the garden.”

“Little boy? I thought we were too far out of town?” Sherlock questioned, looking towards Collins.

“One of the farm tenants boys, they like to play in the garden some days. They won’t bother you, just ignore the little devils.” Collins brushed them into the next room, before a young girl; probably mid-twenties appeared in the hall. “Ahh, dinner must be ready. Thank you Amelia.” Amelia nodded and scurried back to the kitchen.

“Follow me, if you please.”

*

The food was exquisite. Molly gorged herself on the squash soup and lemon duck before eating as many tiramisu truffles as she could.

Sherlock seemed just as impressed, although more chatty than usual. Unfortunately he only wanted to talk about the history of the area, something Collins was more than happy to discuss.

The young girl, Amelia, cleared their plates, returning with a bottle of port, silently filling their glasses. Molly thanked her and received a curt nod in return, before racing back into the back rooms.

 _Poor girl looks terrified,_ Molly thought, _must be her first day_.

Molly zeroed in on Sherlock and Collins discussion, listening to Collins rattle off the names of the previous tenants of Whitshaw House. She remembered the small graveyard and paused to ask the butler, “have many people died here?”

Both Collins and Sherlock looked at her strangely and she realised how odd she must have sounded to them. She rushed to explain herself,

“No. sorry, I just mean, I saw the cemetery outside and wondered if it belonged to the house. An old house like this has probably seen a few people come and go.”

Sherlock smirked at her, but she ignored him, focusing on Collins, who looked less than eager to discuss.

“Well, of course. Houses with as a rich a history as Whitshaw House will always have a few tales of loss, but no the graves do not belong to us.”

Molly thought his response was strange, almost as if he was taking her question as personal insult.

She was about to apologise when Collins continued,

“In the late 1800’s most of the land towards the back of the property was donated to the church to help set up camps for people with tuberculosis and other ailments. They believed that the fresh air and open lands would help to cure the sick. Of course we know now that it didn’t do anything but give them a nice place to die.” Molly was struck by the bitter tone Collins adopted. “However the Lady of Whitshaw at the time hated to see them whenever she attended her vegetables and demanded that Lord Andrew remove them from the property. Lord Andrew loathed upsetting the church and feared retribution for turning the sick away, but his wife insisted and the camps closed. The town folk were furious, half were mad that they now had nowhere to turn and the other half was mad that the sick now roamed the town roads.”

“A few local men decided to show the Lord and Lady that no land could remain perfect and snuck in to place bodies of the sick they turned away in the gardens, burying them next to the Lady’s vegetable garden. She was furious when she saw and demanded that the bodies be removed, but Lord Andrew, fearing he had already upset God, refused to desecrate the graves of those buried. Eventually they sold the house and moved to Cornwall to be with the Lady’s family.”

Molly was taken aback by the tale Collins had spun, she couldn’t quite decide from his tone who’s side he was on, the Lady’s or Lord Andrews.

She was pulled from her intrigue by Sherlock rising from the table, “Well that was certainly entertaining. But I think it’s time for bed.” He shot Molly a look that told her he didn’t mean sleeping.

Collins left the room and Sherlock made his way over to her, taking her hand and pulling her up for a deep kiss.

*

Thoughts of sick camps and tombstones were forgotten as Molly and Sherlock shed their clothes and climbed into bed; Sherlock teasing her with kisses from head to toe until she couldn’t take it anymore and begged him to take her.

She rose in the middle of the night, and stumbled naked towards the bathroom. On her return to the bed she peered out the window, looking across the gardens, not caring that she was bare to the world.

_There’s no one around. Perfectly peaceful._

Molly was about to climb back into bed with her similarly naked lover when she saw a sharp movement cross the patch of land where the small graves lay. She watched slowly as the small figure leapt from stone to stone before stopping at the vegetable patch, just like earlier in the day. She was about to pull on her gown for her modesty, when she saw another figure, this time larger, emerge from the same spot, dancing over to the little boy, stopping right beside him.

And then another.

And another.

Soon six figures, small and tall overlooked the vegetable patch, their features not quite visible under the dark night.

Unsettled, she turned to wake Sherlock, but when she turned back she realised no one was there.

Startled, she gathered her thoughts and climbed back in to the bed, chastising herself for allowing her imagination run wild.

 _You’ve watched too many scary movies, Hooper._ She thought, as she drifted back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think i'm on a roll here :) probably the last chapter for tonight. This is a product of working night shifts in a haunted hospital, so forgive the haunting tropes :)  
> More during the day.

The morning suns beams woke Molly from her sleep, her squinting to avoid the bright lights streaming through the open curtains. However she noticed something else might have woken her as well. She felt the covers shift and Sherlock’s hands were drawing circles on her bare stomach, delving lower and lower with each pass, until he gently grazed between her legs. Molly let out a low moan as he began nibbling on her neck. She relished the sensation of him carefully playing her, like his precious violin, until she gasped and fell apart, whimpering his name.

She turned to look at him, a lazy grin spread across his beautiful face.

She pounced on him, straddling his waist and leaning down to give him a deep, passionate kiss. They fought for dominance, her easily winning from her position above him. They ground against each other until she took him in and rode him with abandon.

They gasped each other’s names and she fell apart when he growled out “fuck Molly, yes”. She lay out on top of him, exhausted from the two orgasms, when he flipped her over and began thrusting deeply. He growled again, nearly causing her hit another peak, before collapsing onto her chest.

“Good morning” he breathlessly whispered into her collarbone.

“Very good indeed” she replied.

“Hmm, I don’t know what you had planned for today, but I don’t think it should involve clothing.” He cheekily remarked, peppering kisses onto her chest.

“I agree – ahh-” he moved lower down kissing further and further along her heated body “I completely agree.”

 

*

 

They spent the morning lazily making love, before rising to take a shower, which lead to more sex in the shower , somehow making her feel even dirtier.

After a small lunch of sandwiches they decided to explore the library towards the back of the house. The large room was covered floor to ceiling in every kind of book. Sherlock’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he saw the rare collection of early surgical journals in the centre case.

Molly browsed the book shelves, spoilt for choice, running her fingers across the aged spines.

Somewhere towards the back she noticed some spines seemed more broken than the others. She pulled one of the shelves and noticed that it was not a book, but rather a leather bound journal.

She opened it to a random page and began scanning the entries. After all, it was a library; it wouldn’t be here if it shouldn’t be read.

 

_January 16 th 1919_

_He came again today. Father assures me that he is a good match, but I feel that his lack of belief will cause nothing but animosity between us. He thinks the history of the house is something that should be stored in a glass cage, to be remarked upon but left in the past. This house is my home. When father bought it, it became part of us, our family. This house is as much a part of us as he wishes to be._

_I cannot spend my life with a man who does not see past what he can sell or profit from. The gardens tell stories and yet still he wishes to sell the lands to make his fortune. Father says it will never happen, but when he is gone, my husband will have the power to do as he pleases._

_I feel that I must tell the gardens stories be told before they are taken from us. So much has occurred on those lands, and I need to tell about the whispers._

_I see them from my bedroom, the six together, they want to come home, but they are fearful. They should know that we will care for them, but I have no way of telling them._

_I have left letters for the older boy, but I fear he does not know what I am offering. I will try again tonight. I will help them before he can tear away their homes._

_Joanna_

 

Molly stared at the page. She stared at the passage

_The six together._

Last night she saw 6 people in the garden,

_The gardens that whisper._

She felt a chill run down her spine. She tugged another of the journals from the shelf and again opened a page randomly, this one from a few years previous to the last.

 

 

_June 1 st 1915_

_The whispers were louder today. Mother said to stop telling tales, I was scaring Margarete, but I told her I was not lying. They told me of how they’re hurting, how they want to come home and stop hurting. I begged papa to let them in but he told me over and over that the whispers were my imagination. That little girls shouldn’t speak of these things, they are unbecoming._

_Papa used to believe me, he used to listen to me tell him about the whispers. But since the war he’s become darker, his hair thinning and his mood always sullen. Now he doesn’t want to think about people hurting._

Everyone’s hurting now Joanna _he said, but I know he doesn’t include the whispers in that._

_I will tell them tonight. I will let them know they can come home. We have enough room._

_Joanna._

 

Molly flipped the page to the next page, completely entranced now.

 

 

_June 2 nd 1915 _

_I went to see them. I got to the tomato fields, they were right there waiting for me._

_But Collins stopped me. Collins said that I had to leave them alone. That they didn’t belong here anymore. Collins knows about the whispers, but he doesn’t care about them anymore. I think Collins wants to protect me, but he doesn’t listen to me when I say they’re my friends._

_Papa would be mad if he found out. Collins swore not to tell as long as I swore not to go out at night. I promised him I’d stay inside at night. But that doesn’t mean I can’t leave them a note._

_I don’t think they should be turned away again. They should be made happy._

_We have enough room._

_Joanna._

 

 

Molly’s mind spun.

Collins?

It couldn’t be the same Collins, surely. Probably an uncle or a father, Collins being the family name.

“Anything interesting?”

Molly’s head shot up to see Collins stood in front of her, peering at the book in her hands, his face displaying poorly masked fury.


	4. Sherlock

_Sherlock_

The butler was odd. That was Sherlock’s first deduction, or observation really. He was in his late fifties, single, never married, no children. Worked at Whitshaw House almost all of his life, little to no social life.  Which was all relatively normal.

But still, if he had to choose a word, he would go for odd.

Sherlock was pulled away from the butler by the voice of Molly calling him into the house. He left Collins to get their bags and reached out to grasp her hand. He knew she wanted this to be as relatively normal as possible. Which means he has to be a normal boyfriend.

_Boyfriend._

He hated that term. The juvenile connotations rang wrong with him.

He would prefer something much more grown up.

More permanent.

He’d spoken to John the night before, trying to get some advice on relative normality. Though in hindsight an ex-soldier who married and ex-assassin might not have been the best authority on the matter.

_“John, I need you to listen very carefully” Sherlock’s tone was serious, causing John to sit up in his chair, giving the detective his upmost attention._

_“yeah, sure go ahead”_

_“I would like to take things further with Molly. This weekend.” Johns eyebrows shot up into his hair line, before he composed his expression and nodded._

_“And by further you mean ..” he waved his arm in front of him, trying to clarify just how far they had gone._

_“I want to take our relationship to the next stage.”_

_“And the next stage would be ...” again he waved his arm._

_“I would like to express my love with a physical token.” Sherlock couldn’t understand where he was losing John._

_“Jesus.” John exhaled. “Ok. How, erm, far have you gone so far?” he tried, really tried to hide his grimace._

_“well, we’ve declared our love for each other. We’ve made others aware of our relationship. I’ve agreed to accompany her on his ridiculous trip. Would you suggest that this would be the appropriate time to take the step?”_

_“Ok... erm, well of course if you feel its time then go ahead. But make sure you ask her first. You need to make sure she’s willing and make sure you, well, make her happy.” John bit back the smirk that was forming under his stern expression._

_“Well Obviously john ! the whole point is to ask her ! Really, I couldn’t really go ahead without her could I.” Sometimes he really did feel like John was a bit too simple minded._

_“Wait, what?” John was officially confused._

_“Well as I believe it normally goes, both parties have to say I Do. Really John, i’d’ve thought you’d remember that part at least!”_

_Suddenly a light clicked in Johns house_

_“Oh. OH !” he sighed. “Thank god. I thought you meant sex.”_

_Sherlock blanched. “No. Of course not. Molly would never give me my balls back if I ever discussed that with you !”_

_John silently guessed that he was never getting those balls back anyway, going off the love struck look on his best friends face._

_“So, you want to propose huh?”_

_“Yes, this weekend. I would like it to be somewhat romantic. I mean that’s what she would like isn’t it?” Sherlock’s façade began to slip a little bit, John almost feeling sorry for the poor sod._

_“Yeah. I guess she would. But she’s also the woman who fell in love with a sociopath, so I’d say_ normal _is relative.”_

_Sherlock pondered this before deciding Molly would get the proposal that matched them perfectly._

 

 

He had rang mummy earlier in the week and she had assured him that Grans ring would arrive at the house on Saturday. He would not let the nerves get the better of him.

Molly deserved the best and he was going to be his best self for her.

 

*

 

After dinner Molly seemed distracted by the tale of the previous tenants ridiculous actions.

_Tedious Victorian superstitions._

Sherlock tried to distract her form the somewhat bleak history of the house by worshipping her body all over. He built her up over and over again, letting he beg for him before trying to push all of his love for her into that one moment. She screamed his name and clung to him like he was her life rack, and he felt a surge of pride at how he could make her fall apart around him .

He stirred later in the night, looking up to see her naked and beautiful staring out of the window. He swore she had never looked so beautiful before, completely at ease in this house.

His eyes began to flutter shut and as he drifted off he heard a rustle beside him and felt a breath on his cheek. Assuming that it was Molly getting back in bed, he let himself fall back asleep.

It would only be the next night when he would realise that Molly slept on the _other side_ of the bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Molly stumbled for words; she could not understand the look she was receiving from the furious butler.  The journal had been in a library, a library that they had told her they could use however they pleased.

“Collins, I’m sorry – I – er , I just assumed that – it was on the shelf.” She waved towards the large bookcases, hoping that was good enough of an explanation.

The sound seemed to have roused Sherlock away from his medical relics and he strolled over to the pair, looking between Molly and Collins, probably already deducing the whole scenario.

“Is there a problem?” Molly recognised the tone, it was one he usually reserves for clients.

Collins faced morphed into a strange half smile, looking directly at Molly but answering Sherlock, “No of course not, you see the Journal your wife is holding belonged to a former Lady of the house and the current owners are very particular about who they let read them.” Collins tore is gaze away from Molly and smiled at Sherlock, this time it looked more human than the fury filled smirk she had received.

“Well, I suggest you inform the owners that if they do not wish for them to be read by strangers, then they remove them from their public library.” His tone was polite but the condescension was abundantly clear.

Collins smarted a little at the abrupt tone, but he righted himself, nodding once and left through the ornate wooden doors.

Molly let out a breath she did not know she was holding, slowly closing the journal and returning it to its rightful place.

“Sherlock, I know I said that this weekend would be about relaxing, but- ” Molly stopped herself, this was meant to be her break from reality, her and Sherlock’s romantic weekend with just each other to keep them occupied. But she could ignore her gut, which was screaming at her that there was something going on here. 

_Something unnatural._

“I know.”

She gazed up at the detective, whose eyes were trained on the door Collins had left through.

“You know?”

“Yes. I couldn’t quite figure it out when we arrived, but Collins is definitely hiding something. I cant seem to get it though.”

Molly stared at him. Half of her was disappointed that he had found a mystery to solve. But the other half was bouncing with excitement at digging deeper.

“I know what you mean. But it’s not just that, it’s the house itself. Last night, I swore I saw people by the vegetable patch, just staring at the house.  And now I find out that the old Lady of the house used to see people out there too?” Molly’s head began to spin with theories.

“I wonder if it has anything to do with the murders.”

Molly’s head shot up “Murders?”

Sherlock finally looked at her, eyebrows arched in an amused- _and sexy –_ lift.

“Yes. I did some reading this morning while you were getting ready. The old Lady of the house, the one who demanded the bodies be moved? Well after her and Lord Andrew moved to Cornwall, they struggled to keep the house running. Collins told us that they sold the house before they moved, but the old land deeds showed that they owned it for a full year after they left. Turns out that they came back after a year to do some renovations, hoping to sell it quicker. The second night they were here though, the house was ransacked and the Lord and Lady and their four children were murdered in their sleep. The staff were all left unharmed, but when the police came to interview them, no one would talk.” Sherlock’s voice lifted in excitement with each sentence, but there was horrible churning in her gut. She could not help but remembering Joanna’s words,

 

_I see them from my bedroom, the six together, they want to come home…_


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock immediately whipped out his phone, clicking away on the screen, whilst Molly began to screen the rest of the shelves where the journals were housed.

1919, 1920, 1921, all the way through to 1933 and then nothing. It was entirely possible that Joanna stopped writing with age, or the impending war had given her more important things to think about. Molly could not help but shake the thought however that something else may have led to the end of her tales.

She turned to Sherlock, who’s eyes were still glued to his phone, muttering to himself, probably in his mind palace. She glanced around the vast library, when a small figure caught her eye. She walked towards a small gap in the shelves, where Amelia appeared, motioning Molly closer.

She glanced behind her but Sherlock was still engrossed in his phone and so she followed Amelia into the gap.

The small opening soon widened into a hallway, dimly lit and Molly had to keep close to the young

Maid in order to see where they were heading.

After a few minutes they came to a slim door, which Amelia used a small rusted key to open, leading to what looked like a servants bedroom. It was sparsely furnished; a small chest of drawers sat next to a small single metal framed bed.

Amelia began to rummage through the drawers and Molly had to move closer to see she was removing what appeared to be the bottom of the drawer, revealing a small compartment. She pulled a scrap of paper, aged around the edges ad covered in a fine layer of dust.

“I found this when cleaning the master bedroom” her voice was meek and timid and slightly hoarse, as if she hadn’t spoken for an age, “I didn’t understand what it meant in the beginning, but then I started to see them.”

Molly tore her eyes away from the paper, looking up at the young girl.

“began seeing who?”

“The people at night. They come every night to the vegetable patch. Mr Collins doesn’t like to speak about them but I know that he knows why they are here.” She rushed in a hushed tone, as if we were being listened to.

Molly steeled herself to ask the burning question at the back of her mind, “Are they ... I mean, I know its insane, but could they be –“

“Ghosts?” Amelia interrupted her.

“Yes! It’s just  with what I read in Joanna’s journal, it seems like she saw them too. But that’s not possible, right?”

Amelia paused, looking down at the piece of darkened paper in her hand.

“I thought that at first too. But you must understand, it goes so much deeper than that. The people in the town, they hate this house, say its a place of evil. They’ve tried to run out every owner whose bought this place.” She began fiddling with the paper before straightening herself, “here, read it for yourself and please, don’t tell Mr Collins that you have it. He wants to pretend that this is still a great house with a regal history.”

“Isn’t it?” Molly questioned.

“Not for a long time.”

Molly was about to ask her what she meant when she heard Sherlock’s voice carry down the passageway, calling her name.

“You should go.” Amelia began pushing her back to the narrow hallway, pushing her out and shutting the door behind Molly.

She manoeuvred  her way back towards the library, coming out again into the light of the ornate room.

“Molly there you are, where did you go?” Sherlock rushed to her, placing his arms on hers, which where still clutching the paper, “What’s that?”

“I’m not sure , the maid Amelia, she gave me this,” She handed Sherlock the paper, which he immediately unfolded, the need for knowledge undeniable for him.

“I let them in,” He began reading aloud, “I ran to get them at night, having Margarete keep Collins occupied. She didn’t want to help me, but the idea of Matthew selling the land made her agree. When I got to them, they stared through me, not speaking, just staring at me. I tried to go to them, but they moved back. I begged them to follow me but they stayed silent. It wasn’t until the little boy came to me that they others began to follow. I led them through the servants chambers, sneaking them up to the guest rooms. I promised them food and drink and told them to stay quiet until I could convince Matthew that they could stay.”

Sherlock stopped speaking, his eyes still scanning the paper.

“What is it?” Molly questioned him.

“The last part, it’s from later in the night, but the end, it’s not finished.” Molly tore the paper from him, curiosity taking over from her manners.

“I keep hearing knocking. One at a time down the doors. Please, if your reading this, please know, I thought I was doing the right thing.  I thought they just wanted the house. I didn’t think they’d do this. Please God, please know –“

The writing tapers off to an ink smudge and Molly was left staring at the paper.

“What happened to them?”

Sherlock was standing in front of her, thinking so loudly, Molly could almost hear the doors in his mind palace opening and closing.

“They were murdered. By the people they found in the gardens.”

“But how do you know? There was nothing about this place having vicious murders when we researched it before we came.” Molly’s over preparedness have led her to look into the basic history of the house on the drive down. She had found a brief history of the house during the industrial revolution, but surely a murder would have been more newsworthy fact?

“They hid it. I text Mycroft, asking for anything he had on Collins and the house.” Sherlock’s tone became excited again, the idea of a mysterious Butler and an old murder getting him going.

“Joanna’s husband, Matthew, was not popular in the town. He wanted to buy most of the farmers lands and sell them for housing or factories. The town were in uproar, wanting them all gone. When the maid’s found the bodies, they ran to the church to get help, but the town decided that they would bury the bodies and forget about it, claiming the house for themselves.”

“But how, surely there would be family that would come looking for them? And how would Mycroft know about this if the town covered it up?”

“I try not to question Mycroft on how he gets his information, normally leads to a conversation with him, which I like to avoid at all costs.” He smirked, not being able to resist a dig at his older brother.

“So what about the people I’m seeing outside now? Who are they? What are they?”

“They are most definitely people, living breathing people. But why they’re there I have no idea.”

Sherlock began to pace the room, and Molly hugged herself, a shiver beginning to spread down her spine.

She couldn’t understand this. The frustration was also beginning to seep into the conscience. She just wanted a weekend with her boyfriend. A normal weekend where they would laze in bed, eat luxury food and just spend time with each other.

Although, the curiosity was causing an adrenaline rush that made her want to delve deeper into this case. Which it now is.  A Case.

Sherlock spun round, facing her with a devilish grin, that almost made her want to drag him to her room.

“We need to go into town. I need to speak to a priest.”


End file.
